


Someday at Christmas

by gothyringwald



Series: harringrove holidays [7]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Christmas, Christmas Presents, Established Relationship, Fluff, Frottage, Insecurity, M/M, monster fighting boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:27:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21776773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothyringwald/pseuds/gothyringwald
Summary: All Steve wants for Christmas is to not have to fight any monsters. Is that so much to ask? Turns out, in Hawkins, the answer is always yes. But no matter what’s thrown his way, he’s determined it won’t ruin his first Christmas with Billy.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Series: harringrove holidays [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1222670
Comments: 23
Kudos: 199
Collections: Harringrove Holiday Exchange 2019





	Someday at Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [youweremovingyourfeet (rosebud221B)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosebud221B/gifts).



> I tried to incorporate as many of the things you said you liked and added a bit of Christmas flavour! I hope you enjoy this :)
> 
> (And thanks to S for looking this over for me! <3)

There’s an old Christmas tune filtering from an apartment a few doors down. It reminds Steve of his grandmother, how she’d hum along to her records, the sweet, crooning tune crackling with warmth through the speakers of her old player. The phantom scent of nutmeg and cinnamon, the memory of his grandmother’s red-lipstick kisses, flood him, jarring in the dingy hallway.

Steve blinks them away and raps his knuckles on the door in front of him. Waits with his pulse thudding merrily, thoughts of Christmases past pushed to the back of his mind.

Cursing comes from inside the apartment—Steve smooths his hair, straightens the bow on the package he’s holding—and moments later the door swings open. 

Billy greets Steve with the crooked grin that always makes Steve’s stomach swoop, his cheeks flushed and eyes bright. There’s not a hair out of place on his head and even across the threshold it smells like he’s bathed in cologne.

Beautiful, Steve thinks, and answers Billy’s grin.

‘You’re early,’ Billy says.

Steve glances at his watch. ‘I’m actually late.’

‘Whatever.’ Billy shrugs one shoulder—his unbuttoned shirt slips aside, revealing the barest hint of a blood-red rose and silvery scars—and moves to let Steve in.

Once the door is closed, Billy crowds Steve back up against it, hands tight and hot over Steve’s hips. He kisses Steve and Steve lets him, forgetting everything else with the feel of Billy’s mouth on his.

‘Careful, you’ll crush your present.’ Steve pulls away, remembering the carefully wrapped package, now wedged between their bodies.

Billy licks his lips and looks down. He snakes a hand between them and rests it, with the smallest amount of tantalising pressure, over Steve’s fly. ‘That would be a shame.’

‘Yeah,’ Steve says, hips twitching forward of their own accord, ‘but that’s not your present.’

‘Mm, pity,’ Billy says, tongue between his teeth. He leans in close, lips brushing Steve’s jaw, trailing sparks of electricity under Steve’s skin. Then he snatches the gift from Steve and steps away. ‘What is it?’ He holds it up to his ear, makes a show of shaking it.

‘You’ll find out tomorrow. You know, when it’s actually Christmas.’ Steve’s heart thunders, all of a sudden, at the thought. 

It’s not just Christmas. It’s their _first_ Christmas. As an actual couple. He never thought he’d be spending Christmas with his _boyfriend_ , could never in his wildest dreams have imagined that boyfriend being Billy Hargrove. He remembers a time when that would have been his nightmare. But then a lot of things in his life aren’t what he thought they’d be. 

He couldn’t be happier.

‘Oh yeah?’ Billy says. ‘And you’re gonna stop me from opening it, right now?’ 

‘Yes.’ Steve reaches for the gift but Billy plants a hand in his chest, holds the gift out of Steve’s reach. It’s not enough to stop him, and they both know it, but instead of reaching out again, Steve rolls his eyes. ‘Quit being a brat.’

‘Maybe I don’t want to.’

‘Billy,’ Steve says, trying his hardest not to smile.

Billy winks and throws the gift back to Steve. ‘You can stick it under the tree,’ he says, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.

The gift lands easily in Steve’s hands, paper crinkling. He looks around. ‘You got a tree?’ He hadn’t noticed one when he came in, but then he had been distracted. Billy’s good at that.

‘Over there.’

A small, lopsided tree sits by the television. It’s plastic, barely three feet tall, and decorated with pull rings and bottle caps and one strand of bright red tinsel. On top, in place of an angel or a star, there’s a picture of a man wearing a cavalry hat, sporting the most ridiculous moustache Steve has ever seen. It looks like it’s been cut out of a magazine and taped onto the tree.

‘Cute,’ Steve says, smirking, but at the flush that rises to Billy’s cheeks, he adds, ’and very, um, festive. Very you?’ He winces. He still gets tongue-tied around Billy, sometimes. 

‘Whatever, Harrington,’ Billy says, but there’s a smile accompanying his blush, now. 

Steve manoeuvres the gift until it fits under the tree, taking note of the other packages sitting beneath it. ‘I don’t see anything for me under here.’

‘Who says I got you anything?’ At Steve’s look, Billy says, ‘Your present’s not under there,’ and goes over to the kitchenette, busying himself with something at the counter.

Steve hums and pushes himself to his feet. He moves around the soft, worn couch to join Billy, sliding his arms around Billy’s waist and inside his shirt. ‘Is the present your dick?’ He catches Billy’s ear between his teeth, tugging gently.

‘You’ll find out tomorrow,’ Billy says, turning in Steve’s arms, ‘when it’s actually Christmas.’ He winks, then kisses Steve. Open-mouthed and slow. ‘You hungry?’

‘Yeah,’ Steve says, pressing forward, backing Billy up against the counter. ‘I could eat.’

Billy grins—wolfish and gorgeous—and reaches behind him for a cookie. He pops it in Steve’s mouth, pushing his finger past Steve’s lips, sticky with icing sugar. The cookie is burnt, tastes not quite right beneath that besides, but Steve chews it with a happy hum. Billy presses his thumb to Steve’s bottom lip, still smiling. ‘Good, because I made—‘

The crackle of a walkie talkie interrupts them; Max’s voice comes through the static, frantic as she yells, ‘Billy!’

‘Shit,’ Billy says, disentangling himself from Steve, ‘where did I put that thing?’ He stalks over to the couch, pulling up cushions; Steve follows and helps. Billy finds the walkie talkie first. He pushes the button. ‘Max, what’s going on?’

‘Billy, we need—‘ Crackle. ‘Monsters.’ Hiss. ‘The Tucker cabin.’ And then the walkie talkie cuts out.

‘Shit,’ Billy says, turning to Steve. ‘You got your bat?’

‘Always,’ Steve says.

‘Good.’ Billy pulls a crowbar out from under the couch, slings it over his shoulder, and says, ‘Well, merry fucking Christmas, sweetheart.’

‘No,’ Steve says, determined though his heart is sinking, ‘it’s _not_ Christmas, yet.’

\---

Max and Dustin are waiting for them in the clearing by the old Tucker cabin when they arrive. They’re huddled together, breath misting in the air, but on alert. Poised for action.

‘Steve!’ Dustin rushes over to Steve’s side.

Leaves and twigs crunch under Steve’s feet as he shifts his weight. ‘Hey buddy,’ he says. They don’t do their usual greeting—the mood is too sombre for that—but he claps a hand to Dustin’s shoulder and squeezes. ‘Is it just you two?’ He frowns. ‘What are you doing out here?’

‘Yeah,’ Dustin says. ‘I was out getting eggs for my mom when I heard someone talking about seeing some kind of weird wild animal out by the cabin. Max was the only one who answered my call. I guess no one thought there’d be monsters on Christmas Eve.’ He gives a little chuckle then frowns up at Steve. ‘You didn’t answer, either.’

‘I, uh, I was at Billy’s.’ Steve swallows, heat rising to his cheeks. It’s not like it’s weird that he would be with Billy, even if it _is_ Christmas Eve. They’re all friends, now. So Dustin shrugs off the answer. But Max gives him a knowing look that sits warmly behind his ribs. Steve ducks his gaze, then looks around. ‘I thought you said there were monsters.’

Dustin points his flashlight toward the rundown cabin. ‘They’re in there.’ At his words, growls and scratching sound from inside the cabin, as if on cue.

‘We trapped them, for now,’ Max says, wiping a hand over the back of her forehead. The streaks of dirt on her face are clearer now that the clouds have parted and moonlight makes its way into the clearing. ‘But we couldn’t kill them.’

‘That’s what we’re here for,’ Billy says, all bravado. But his eyes are wide as he looks at Steve, fingers clenched tight over his crowbar. ‘Ready to kick some monster ass, Harrington?’

‘Yeah,’ Steve says, even though he’s not sure he is. He’s done this so many times—too many times—but he doesn’t think he’ll ever be ready for it.

It’s not the first time they’ve had to fight a rogue pack of Upside Down creatures since it was all meant to be over. At first there were more Demodogs but then the others came. No one knows where they’re coming from—they should all be dead, they should all be gone, it should _all be over_ —but they’ve been popping up every other month. They eat some sheep, wreak a little havoc, and then the gang hunts them down and kills them.

So far they’ve all been easy enough to kill. It’s when they find monsters that can’t be killed that Steve will let himself worry again. 

Not when, Steve thinks testing the weight of his bat, _if_.

He looks at Dustin and Max and says, ‘You two wait out here,’ and then he and Billy make their way to the cabin, before the kids can protest.

The things advance on them as soon as they slip inside. They’re more grotesque and fucked up than the last pack, getting weirder every time.

‘Don’t these fuckers know it’s Christmas,’ Billy says, swinging his crowbar. It connects with a stomach-turning squelch. He looks up at Steve. ‘And don’t you dare start singing that fucking Band Aid song.’

‘Wouldn’t dream of it, babe,’ Steve says. He hits one of the things, sending it careening across the floor, smashing through rotted furniture. ‘And that’s “ _Do_ They Know It’s Christmas”.’

‘Whatever.’ 

A huge part of Steve aches with the desire to keep Billy out of all of this. Keep him safe. After everything Billy went through, after how close he was to— It isn’t fair. Billy shouldn’t have to deal with this.

But he can’t deny that there’s a thrill in it, too. Fighting side by side with Billy, the rhythm they fall so easily into. They make a good team. And Billy looks damn hot fighting monsters.

Thwack. Steve spins his bat. Crunch. Squelch. Another one bites the fucking dust.

And then one moment Billy is standing over the fallen corpse of his latest kill, the next he’s flat on his back, one of the monsters looming over him. Steve’s heart stops. Anger wells up in him, warring with fear. That thing is not going to hurt his boyfriend. And it is _not_ going to ruin his Christmas. He makes it across the room in the blink of an eye and swings.

It hits the wall and falls limply to the floor. It’s the last one.

‘Thanks,’ Billy says, voice hoarse. He takes Steve’s hand, lets Steve pull him up and into his arms.

‘It’s OK,’ Steve says, bat clattering to the floor. He wraps his arms tight around Billy, breathing in the lingering scent of cologne mixed with sweat and blood, and whispers, ‘You’re OK,’ into his hair. And then, ‘Fuck, I thought—‘

Billy starts to pull back but Steve only holds him tighter. ‘Hey, I’m OK, Harrington,’ he says into Steve’s neck. But his voice cracks and he clings to Steve.

Steve wants to kiss him.

But the door bursts open and Max and Dustin spill into the cabin and Billy and Steve move apart. ‘Are they dead?’ Dustin says at the same time Max says, ‘I can’t believe you made us stay outside.’

‘It’s over,’ Steve says, running a hand through his hair. 

‘Are you OK?’ Dustin asks.

‘Yeah,’ Steve says. He slings an arm around Dustin’s shoulder. ‘But, uh, we should probably clean this up.’ He nods to the dead monsters, black blood spattered on the floorboards and walls. No one lives here, anymore, but sometimes kids use it as a make-out spot.

Dustin groans. ‘Clean up is the worst.’

‘It’s fine, we’ll do it. Go home. Your mom will be worried,’ Steve says.

Beside him Billy makes a small, displeased noise, but is otherwise silent.

‘No,’ Max says, ‘you guys killed them. We’ll clean up.’

‘Yeah, we’re not leaving you two shitheads out here alone,’ Billy says. 

‘But—’ Max starts. She looks at Dustin, at Steve, then back to Billy. ‘I thought you’d want to go?’

They stare each other down, conversing in that silent way siblings do.

‘We’ll all clean,’ Steve cuts in on their silent conversation. ‘It’ll be quicker that way.’ He catches Max’s eye and mouths ‘thank you’ and then wonders if there’s anything like a shovel around here.

They make short work of it—it should be disturbing how _routine_ it is to dispose of dead bodies, even if they’re the dead bodies of fucked-up monsters from a parallel world—and they’re all sweating and panting by the time they’re done. 

Steve pats the dirt once more, then rests his elbow on the shovel. ‘If I never have to do that again, it will be too soon.’

Dustin makes a noise of agreement, nose screwed up in disgust. 

‘Right,’ Billy says, pointing at Max and Dustin, ‘let’s get you two home.’

Steve looks at Billy, who is looking back at him, and says, ‘ _That_ is an excellent idea.’

\---

The hallway is silent as Steve stands before Billy’s door for the second time tonight. The adrenaline that flooded his system when he was fighting has receded, leaving him feeling worn out but wired. Billy lets them in and, this time, it is Steve who crowds Billy back against the door once it’s closed.

But he doesn’t kiss Billy, merely rests their foreheads together, hands cupping Billy’s jaw. ‘There was that moment, I thought—‘

‘I know,’ Billy says, hands at Steve’s waist. ‘I know.’

‘I couldn’t—‘ Steve pulls back, shakes his head. He looks off to the side, then back to Billy. ‘I don’t know what I’d do if—‘

Billy kisses him, pulls their bodies flush together. It’s deep and slow and it reminds Steve that they’re safe and they’re _alive_.

‘You hurt anywhere?’ Steve asks when they break apart.

Billy shakes his head. ‘You?’

‘No.’ He glances at the kitchenette, remembering their plans for the night. ‘Are you hungry? You said you made something?’

‘Let’s just…go to bed.’ 

‘Yeah. Yeah, OK.’ Steve’s breath shudders out of him. He pulls back, circles his fingers around Billy’s wrist, and pulls him to the bedroom.

It’s small, barely big enough for Billy’s bed, wedged into the corner; the clothes that are usually strewn over the floor are now all shoved into a not-so-neat pile. Steve takes a moment to appreciate that Billy cleaned—his version at least—for tonight before Billy is pushing him until he’s sitting on the bed.

Billy straddles Steve, knees sinking into the mattress either side of Steve’s hips, hands coming to cradle Steve’s jaw. He tilts Steve’s face up to his and says, ‘You good?’

‘Yeah.’ Steve’s pulse flutters beneath Billy’s hot gaze. He brushes his hand over Billy’s forehead, trails his fingers down the side of Billy’s face, stubble prickling his fingertips. Lets his hand rest on Billy’s neck; his pulse thrums beneath Steve’s palm. _Thump-thump, thump-thump_. The steady rhythm loosens something in Steve’s chest. ‘Are you OK?’

‘I’m just peachy, sweetheart.’ There’s a smirk tilting Billy’s pink, bitten lips, but the tremble beneath his words is still there. He’s at least as shaken as Steve is, even if he’s trying not to show it.

Steve wants to reassure him but he doesn’t know the words—doesn’t know if there are words for this—so he slides his hand to the back of Billy’s neck and pulls him down. 

As they kiss, Billy pushes Steve onto the mattress, hard and warm above him. They shuffle up, barely breaking apart, until they’re lying on their sides, face to face, heads resting on the pillows. Sharing breaths between kisses, bodies pressed close, legs tangled together.

Billy slides a hand under Steve’s shirt, palm hot against Steve’s stomach, over his ribs, fingers tickling through his chest hair. 

Their clothes go over the side of the bed—thrown haphazardly or kicked with impatient feet—joining the pile in the corner. Steve pulls Billy back on top of him, relishing the feel of Billy warm and naked and alive above him. The feel of Billy’s skin, smooth and hot, the bumps of his scars, under his hands.

It’s heady.

Billy kisses Steve’s neck, sucking and biting in the way that always drives Steve crazy. It’s going to leave a mark but Steve doesn’t care. He can wear that ugly turtle neck his mom got him for his birthday at Christmas dinner. It’ll be worth it. 

Steve gasps as Billy’s teeth graze his pulse; Billy smiles against his skin. ‘Billy,’ Steve breathes, sinking his hands into Billy’s hair. 

‘Mmm.’ Billy sucks one more kiss into Steve’s neck then trails wet, open-mouthed kisses down—over Steve’s collarbone, his chest, his trembling stomach—pinpricks of heat left in the wake of his lips. There is no pause to tease, to tantalise: Billy runs his tongue along the length of Steve’s cock, then swallows him down, cheeks hollowing. 

‘Fuck,’ Steve says, fingers tangling in Billy’s hair. ‘Feels good. So fucking good, baby.’

It’s always good with Billy. Even the times they’re a little out of sync, it’s still good, because it’s Billy. Being close to him feels good. Steve wishes, sometimes, that he could always be close to Billy. He doesn’t know if Billy would want that.

But it’s okay because _this_ , fuck, this is just about enough.

Billy hums around his cock, and something sparks at the base of Steve’s spine. He’s got one hand curled over Steve’s hip, the other hooked under his thigh, keeping Steve where he wants him, as he pulls up, sinks back down. Over and over. 

Electricity snaps along Steve’s spine, tingles in his veins. His breaths are coming fast and hard. He twists his fingers in Billy’s hair, pulls until Billy gets the idea, and crawls back up to Steve.

‘What?’ Billy asks, lips and chin shining. 

‘Kiss me.’

Billy grins and kisses Steve. Tongue sliding along Steve’s, bringing the taste of him into his own mouth. That’s always turned Steve on, tasting himself on someone else’s tongue, but there’s something about tasting himself in Billy’s mouth that’s so much hotter.

Steve moves his hands down Billy’s sides, grips Billy’s ass, and pulls their hips flush. He hooks one leg over Billy’s, rubbing the arch of his foot against the back of Billy’s calf. His breath hisses out of him as their cocks align.

‘This what you want?’ Billy asks, rocking his hips against Steve’s. Bump and grind. Again and again. Their cocks slide together, slick with saliva and precome. It’s so fucking _good_.

‘Yeah,’ Steve breathes, tipping his head back on a breathy moan. ‘Almost.’ He flips them over, pressing Billy’s hands to the mattress, either side of his head. Laces their fingers together.

Billy’s thighs fall open, letting Steve fit into the cradle of them. So easy, so _trusting_.

The weight of that trust hits Steve, then, winding him. He takes a moment to look at Billy, who is looking back at him with something Steve can’t quite put a name to. He wants to, he does, but the friction of their hips, the slide of their cocks, is too good and his brain is fuzzy with arousal and the smell and taste and feel of Billy.

So, he grips Billy’s thigh, fingers sinking into strong muscle and flesh, and pulls, until Billy wraps his legs around him. Holding on tight. They rock against each other, breaths damp between them, the muggy scent of sex in the air.

That familiar heat is building in Steve, arrowing to his groin, and he can tell by the way Billy is moving that he’s getting close, too. It thrills through him, that he knows Billy this way so well now.

But, still, he asks, ‘You close?’ licking at Billy’s top lip.

Billy grunts and pulls Steve down, catching his mouth in a sloppy kiss. His heels dig into the back of Steve’s thighs, urging Steve closer and closer. He’s breathing as hard as Steve is, chest rapidly rising and falling, head tipped back on a silent moan. It’s not long before he’s coming, hot and wet between them, thighs tensing around Steve’s waist.

‘Jesus,’ Steve says, mouth gone dry, hips stuttering.

‘C’mon, Harrington,’ Billy says, hands curved over Steve’s ass in a bruising grip, ‘you gonna come for me, or what?’

‘ _Billy_.’ Steve’s hips snap forward, urged on by Billy’s hands. His cock slides along Billy’s hip, his way made slick with sweat and Billy’s come. 

Tension is building and building and Steve is so close but it’s not until Billy looks him in the eyes and says, ‘Wanna see you,’ that the tension breaks and he comes. It rips through him, a full body shudder, and leaves him trembling.

‘Fuck,’ Steve says, ‘Billy.’ He rests his forehead in the crook of Billy’s neck, breathing in the warm scent of him, before he rolls off of Billy, onto his back. He stays close, though, within touching distance. Close enough he can feel the heat radiating off of Billy.

That loose post-orgasm feeling spreads through him, leaving him boneless, a small smile tilting his lips.

‘So,’ Billy says, breathless, chest glistening with sweat, ‘where’s my present?’

Steve shifts lazily and blinks over at Billy. ‘I said you’d get it when it’s actually Christmas.’

Billy points at the clock radio that’s buzzing on his bedside table. The glowing red numbers read 12:01.

‘It’s Christmas,’ Billy says, not even trying to hide his smirk.

Steve settles onto his side, resting on one elbow, tracing a circle on Billy’s hip with his pointer finger. ‘Anyone ever tell you you’re a brat?’

‘Hmm.’ Billy raises his brows, like he’s thinking about it. ‘Sounds familiar.’ He swats Steve’s ass and says, ‘Now give me my present, Harrington.’

‘I should make you wait until morning.’

‘But you won’t.’ Billy pokes him in the side. ‘You’re a soft touch.’ 

Steve leans up, lips brushing Billy’s, and says, ‘I hate you,’ then pushes himself away.

But Billy grabs him, holding him tight, then rolls them over. He pins Steve’s hands above his head, pushing his thumbs into the wells of Steve’s palms. There’s a wicked gleam in his eyes but he stays silent.

‘Do you want your present, or not?’ Steve squirms but he doesn’t want to break free of Billy’s hold.

‘In a minute.’ Billy kisses him—once, firm and warm—then lets go of Steve’s hands. He sits up and swats Steve’s ass again. ‘OK, go get my present.’

Steve huffs but he gets out of bed and goes back into the other room. The present is still wedged under the tree, caught on one of the plastic branches, and Steve carefully pulls it out.

He holds it tight in his hands, heart thudding. It had taken him weeks to pick something for Billy, wanting it to be perfect. Faced with finally giving the gift to Billy, he’s hit with uncertainty all over again. He should have got something else. He should have—

But then Billy calls out, ‘What’s taking you so damn long,’ and Steve makes himself go back to the bedroom. One foot in front of the other.

Billy is sitting against the wall, the dark green sheets barely covering him, one arm behind his head.

There’s a fluttering feeling behind Steve’s ribs and his breath catches. He crawls onto the bed, to sit beside Billy, and hands the gift over. Billy takes it with a wicked grin that makes Steve go hot all over.

Billy rips into the gift with all the patience of a toddler. It’s not long before he’s holding a small felted box in his hands, the wrapping paper littering his lap. The box snaps open, light catching on the silver chain nestled within it. Billy holds it up, letting it drape over his curled fingers.

‘It’s for your pendant,’ Steve says. ‘Because your chain broke, and I know you didn’t get a replacement yet.’ He presses his lips together. ‘Do you like it?’

‘Yeah, it’s great.’ There’s no smart-ass remark, no sarcastic quip, just genuine gratitude. He smiles over at Steve. ‘Thanks.’

Steve shrugs one shoulder. ‘It’s OK.’ He clears his throat. ‘I’m just glad you like it.’ He presses his lips together. ‘Are you sure it’s OK?’

‘It’s fucking fantastic, Harrington,’ Billy says on a laugh, then slides his hand around Steve’s neck and kisses him. He bumps their foreheads together. ‘Do you want your present?’

‘I can wait.’ At Billy’s disbelieving snort, he adds, ‘Unlike some people, I can be patient.’

‘So, you’re not even curious?’

A beat and then, ‘No.’

‘OK.’ Billy sets his present down, sweeps the wrecked wrapping paper onto the floor, and makes a show of stretching. ‘It’s late, we should sleep. I’ll give you your present in the morning, seeing as you’re so patient and all.’

‘I—‘ Steve’s throat clicks. ‘OK.’

Billy stares him down a moment then shakes his head. ‘Close your eyes.’

‘What?’

‘Close your fucking eyes,’ he repeats, so Steve does.

There’s the slide of a drawer and the sound of rustling as Billy roots around and then a moment later something small and cold and hard hits Steve in the middle of his chest. He catches it with one hand before it falls into his lap and says, ‘Can I open my eyes now?’

‘Yes.’

A set of keys rests in Steve’s palm, glinting in the dim light of Billy’s room. There’s a tacky red ribbon tied into a bow around the keychain.

‘You got me keys?’ Steve turns the keys over in his hand, looks over at Billy with a frown. 

‘Yeah, I thought you could add them to your collection.’ Billy rolls his eyes. ‘They’re keys _for_ something.’

‘What?’ It’s not like Billy would buy Steve a car. Not like Billy _could_. And these aren’t car keys. They’re more like… ‘Give me your keys.’

There’s a smirk playing on Billy’s mouth that shoots right through Steve. ’You’ve got your own.’

Steve’s heart thuds. He’s pretty sure what the keys are for but he wants to check. Has to be sure. He reaches over the bed for Billy’s jeans, fishing around in the pocket until he finds Billy’s keychain. There’s the key for Billy’s bike, and then the keys to his apartment. Steve holds the keys with the red ribbon tied to them up to Billy’s. They’re a perfect match. ‘They’re _your_ keys.’

‘No,’ Billy says, ‘they’re yours. Figured you should have a set. You’re here enough.’

Steve curls the keys into his palm. He looks up at Billy. ‘This means I can come over whenever I want.’

Billy is chewing on his thumbnail. ‘That’s kind of the point.’

‘You’ll have to tell your other lovers to stop coming over.’ It’s a joke, mostly. About ninety per cent. Eighty per cent. It’s not that Steve doesn’t trust Billy, but there’s part of him that wonders if he’s enough. If he could ever be.

But Billy says, ‘There’s no one else,’ so simple and honest that Steve feels like an asshole.

Because Steve knows that—he _knows_ —but hearing Billy say it is another thing completely. It’s the best Christmas present Steve has ever had. ‘Thank you.’

‘Don’t make a big deal of it.’

‘It _is_ a big deal.’

Billy rolls his eyes with a groan and pulls Steve into his lap. He kisses him rough and deep, hands sunk into Steve’s hair. His favourite way of ending uncomfortable conversations and Steve isn’t about to complain. Billy pulls back, hands still cradling Steve’s face, and says, ‘Merry Christmas, Harrington.’

Steve leans in again, kisses Billy sweet and slow, then says, ‘Merry Christmas, baby.’

**Author's Note:**

> Happy holidays!!!


End file.
